


Fried Chicken, Hold the Shade.

by LivefromG25



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Kinda Fluffy, Lil Timmy Tim, M/M, Semi Established Relationship, do not read if triggered by designer wear abuse, if you do you're a credit to your parents, random injokes noone but me will understand, what even are tags, yeah there is some sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 21:50:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivefromG25/pseuds/LivefromG25
Summary: HFA-inspired garbage set in the Plane it Safe Universe.





	Fried Chicken, Hold the Shade.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KendylGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/gifts).



> >Hey 6, what did you think of Tim's bib?  
> Oh, gorgeous, I hope to write about it!  
> >Cool, will you do it now?  
> Sure, I'll start right this minute!  
> >Good, good. Yo, remind me again, what's your favourite Tim?  
> Ooh, you know it's Lil Timmy Tim, I love a good dance.  
> >Nice. You should include him.  
> You know - you’re right! OK!  
> >Speaking of the bib, do you think he told Armie what he was gonna wear beforehand?  
> Oh um, maybe?  
> >Yeah, explore that.  
> Ok?  
> >Oh, hey, guess what!  
> What?  
> >Armie just tweeted.  
> He…. he did?  
> >Yep. Get it in there.  
> Hmm. Sure, umm…  
> >So, like cover all three days.  
> Riiight…  
> >Also, for lols, include Nick cos we enjoyed him getting that cum shot on the plane  
> Oh course… Yep. Anything else?  
> >Yeah. Write more texts. 
> 
> And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how my brain brought us here.  
> Massive thank you to my very generous plot-hole beta going rogue/onlyastoryteller - any shifts in tense are my own problem so please don't judge her. she is very very good. :D  
> Thanks alsoooo to the Fort for their endless support and to Rainbowdazzle for giving Armie the nickname that led to way too much boat focus.
> 
> Gifted to KendylGirl - I am going to blame that I still need to give her feedback on the fact I've been writing this since the HFAs. I owe her.

 

**6th November 2018 - 10.04am**

I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. Well, ‘wake up’ would suggest I had really gotten any sleep. “Opened my eyes” is probably more accurate.

I reach across the pillow and grab it, answering as I sink back into the pillows.

“Mornin’”

_"Armie…”_

I groan, inwardly. What is it about all of the women in my life suffering the same affliction? Unable to say my name in anything other than a repressed, over-this-bullshit tone.

I answer accordingly.

_"Evelyn…”_

“Don’t play games, Armie. What are you doing? What were those tweets all about?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, don’t play games, I don’t have time. Why are you doing this?”

Indignation forces me to sit up as it almost claws it’s way out of my body.

“Evelyn, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The chicken, Armie! The fucking chicken!” she blasts, seemingly having lost any semblance of cool she was going to have about… well, anything.

“What? I was hungry. I really don’t know why my dietary hab-”

She cuts me off. “Armie, stop-, just stop speaking, _please_. Don’t insult my intelligence. You know how that reference looks, you know the headlines on the other side, why are you making this so difficult?”

“Evelyn, sweetheart, I don’t think anyone-”

“Of course they are, Armie! Of. Course. They. Are. I have already had his team on to me about this and-”

“His team? Well then,” I throw my hand up in resignation. “If his _team_ are already on it then what are you worrying for?”

“Because _you_ are _my_ client Armie. I have to worry about it”

“Exactly. I am. Now, unless your concern relates to coming across like you’re making me starve myself, there is really very little for you to do with this unrelated series of events, isn’t there?”

“Armie, I-”

“No, Evelyn. Seriously. I’m done with this conversation. I am tired, I was up all night - as you know from your stunning twitter surveillance - and this is fucking ridiculous. I haven’t done anything wrong, I don’t secretly have their precious Timothee locked in my basement. One tweet from me is hardly derailing their plans, whatever the fuck they are. Okay? Okay. Are we done?”

“For now. Just… can you please just be careful? For me? It is all I ask?”

______________

**4th November 2018 - 08.42AM**

 

 

______________

**5th November 2018 - 02.34**

I circle my arms around Timothee’s waist as we stumble through the front door. He is a writhing mass of hyperactivity, shushing us both even though he is the only one making noise.

“Shh! We’ll wake the babies! Shh! Stop talking! Shh! Oh, wait, that’s me!” he dissolves into giggles again as I force a sincere looking smile even though I suspect the number of times he has used that joke with me is in the hundreds.

I turn him around in my arms, moving my hands to cup his face. I hold him there until his laughter softens to a low hum. A smile twitches at the corner of his slack mouth, his eyes working hard against the alcohol to meet mine. He grips my wrists as his knees buckle gently beneath him and I bring my face to his, capturing his bottom lip between my own.

It’s a sloppy, messy kiss, the taste of rum invading my mouth as his tongue gets reacquainted with it’s rightful home.

A small cough behind us is the only thing that stops me pushing him towards the staircase and stripping him. He doesn’t know how fortunate he is as I break our kiss, once, twice, three times.

He opens his eyes slowly, lips curving into a grin before turning his attention to Nick with a sarcastic raise of an eyebrow. I’ve said it before and I will say it again; pressing the detonator on my so called perfect life for this boy was the greatest decision I have ever fucking made.

“Niccolai!”

As if he's just as much at Tim's mercy as I am, Nick pushes himself away from the wall where he’s been leaning, watching us for god knows how long the fucking pervert, and engages in some kind of fist bumping, gang sign throwing exchange with Timothee.

“How was your night, boys?”

We fill him in as we follow him through to the kitchen, Timothee leading me by the hand, a safety measure in the event I get lost in my own home.

______________

“Tim, how many sausages do you want?” I flip the meat on the grill outside, calling over my shoulder as Nick whips the cap off a beer bottle before handing it to me. I clink it against his own.

No response from Timothee, I try again. “Tim, do you want one sausage or two?”. 90s music starts playing from the speaker above my head. Explains why he isn’t answering, too busy playing DJ.

I turn, ready to call again, when he flounces out of the patio door.

“I heard you, dude, I said bacon.”

“Bacon?”  I roll my eyes to heaven - _of course you did_ \- and open the mini fridge under the grill station. He is so fucking awkward. As I throw two rashers on the grill I see Nick open and hand him a beer despite the evidence to suggest Timothee may have had enough for one night.

“Tim, you sure that is wise?”

Nick lets out a laugh, reaching out and flicking at the trailing ribbons falling underneath Timothee’s jacket. “Ooh, I see you cut Momma’s apron strings, little one, and straight up got yourself a daddy instead.”

I feel, rather than hear, Timothee’s responsive giggle as he presses up against my back, one arm looping gently around my waist, resting his head between my shoulder blades.

Plating up a sausage sandwich, I hand it to Nick with a wry smile and a gentle request to _leave him alone_ , before twirling in Tim’s grip. I push his hair back off his face and he stares up at me with that soft expression he only has when he is either drunk, tired or post-coital. I raise an eyebrow questioningly; _you okay_?

“‘M hungry as fuck. Man, I wish we had fried chicken.” he slurs before pushing up on his tiptoes and landing a soft kiss on my lips. If Nick is in any way put out by this he thankfully doesn’t show it. While whatever this is between myself and Timothee has been going on a long time, it is still newly public. In fact, this may only be the second time Nick has seen him since he found out about us and I am not sure he even really saw him the first time, too busy avoiding his eyes and pretending like he hadn’t been accidentally sent the very messy evidence that we had become more than friends.

“Well, tough, we don’t. Take a seat, your majesty, and us paupers will try and make this bacon so good you'll forget all about poultry”. He grins with a salute before spinning on his heels and making his way over to one of the outside sofas. He isn’t still for two minutes before he is on his feet again, casually oversharing that he needs the bathroom.

I munch away at my own sandwich, turning the meat on the grill, enjoying the mild, fresh, early morning air. As much as I loved being in New York, for more reasons than one, I don’t think I could ever trade in LA. I wouldn’t have all of this outside space and year long barbecue potential if I did. Then my mind drifts to the other night, a coast away in Timothées apartment, tucked up under a thick, warm blanket. Hmm… maybe New York has some very convincing pros.

“So, was it awkward tonight?” Nick breaks my reverie as he switches out my empty bottle for a fresh one. Such a good barman. I think back over the night, trying to work out how I felt about it.

“Not awkward but... different?” he nods, listening. “I was very aware of myself or something? So was he - probably why he is such a mess right now. As soon as press was done, he slammed those drinks like prohibition was coming back. It was easier during our promo, you know?”

“Yeah, man, I get it. Can’t look too pally, right?”

“Right. Exactly. We’re still friendly, but we have no reason to be as comfortable with each other as we are considering we aren’t meant to have seen each other for months. That is pretty much the main reason I kept dropping all those FaceTime stories, I needed to, at least on some level, plant the seed that we remain close because I didn’t - don’t - trust myself around him. That way, no-one can claim it seems unusual.”

Nick continues to nod along, thoughtfully. “Makes sense. As if your face wouldn’t be such a massive giveaway to start with?”

“My face?”

“Yeah. I mean, look at you,” he gestures to the window, our reflections clear in the tinted glass. “That’s the face of a man who is exactly where he wants to be right now. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, that's for sure. Well-” he drops his voice in comic conspiracy, “outside of a plane, that is.” He clinks the base of his bottle against the neck of my own as my face reddens.

“I’m really fucking happy for you man,” he continues with a smile, delighted by my embarrassment, “If we can keep this version of you around for a while, that would be awesome.”

I pull him into a one arm hug, despite the backhanded compliment, and promise him that for as long as this is going good, I don’t see myself being miserable any time soon.

I find myself humming along to the track now playing, flipping the cooked bacon onto two slices of soft white bread. I dab at it with some kitchen roll and smother it in ketchup just the way he likes it. I plate it and turn around raising an eyebrow at Nick.

“I am surprise he hasn’t raced back out yet” I laugh, nodding my head towards the music. Nick looks at me, confused.  

Just as I am about to explain, I hear a cry from inside; “ _Oh my god, i love this one!_ ” before Timothee comes flying out the patio door and almost breaks himself against a stone column. His grin is wide, infectious, as he starts to join in singing the end of the chorus.

I beam happily, already greedily anticipating what comes next.

As the tone of the song shifts, so does his demeanour. Gone is the smiley giggly Timothee, replaced with something way more sinister, bordering on evil. His joyous grin twists into a smirk, his eyes hooded as they flicker between myself and Nick.

_“You’d better hope and pray, that you’ll wake one day in your own world”_

As he sings, he stalks around the patio like a predator, his hands trailing along seats, walls, us. He runs his hands across the back of Nick’s shoulders, leaning down to whisper the lyrics directly into his ear, his tongue grazing the edge of his teeth in triumph at making Nick so uncomfortable.

I try to catch Nick’s eye and when he darts a panicked glance at me I suppress a grin and shrug, “theatre kids” tumbling from my lips as if that offers any explanation.

“ _Cause when you sleep at night they don't hear your cries in your own world_ ”

Tim trails a finger down Nicks chest before turning, walking towards me as if I am his last meal. This performative side of Tim is one I don’t think I will ever tire of. Before him, I had never wanted to sink to my knees in front of someone, half in submission and half because I wanted their cock in my mouth so badly. It’s a heady mix of emotion and I can’t pretend that us having an audience right now isn't making me a little uneasy despite being very, very proud.

He cups my face in his hand, his fingertips cool at my temple. He tilts his head with a small pout, mock pity as he continues his dramatic reenactment,

_“Only time will tell if you can break the spell, back in your own world”_

His caress is brief, from my face to my chest, before he has turned again seemingly unaware of the fire he has ignited across my whole body. I know better than to think he is that naive though, he knows exactly what he is doing.

I glance shiftily at Nick who is staring at Tim like he has never seen him before, watching as he undulates to the chorus. As the music builds, Tim dramatically falls to all fours, begging _Stay with me_ , and, as it builds to a crescendo, begins to rip his jacket off in time with each _Stay,_ until the song comes to a close and he is left, panting, jacket in a pool on the floor beside him, one cuff still caught around his thin wrist. I am instantly hard at the expanse of bare skin suddenly on show; milky white arms, bony angular shoulders, the hint of collarbone.

He stands, shaking off his dramatic flair with a giggle before looking at both myself and Nick, smirking as he takes a bow, throwing his jacket at Nick who is too stunned to let it do anything other than hit him in the face.

Gliding over to me, a picture of angelic innocence, he grabs the plate with his sandwich on it and takes a huge bite before waltzing away, his lower back bare and glistening in the soft lights of the decking. I watch, transfixed, as the ribbons at his sides flutter as he sways through the patio door.

“Nick-” I _feel_ rather than _hear_ the word as it vibrates deep in my chest, a rumble of barely concealed lust.

“Yeah, man, got it” Nick interrupts, already on his feet, jacket in hand. He hugs me, briefly. “I'm turned on and I’m not even into dudes so… good luck.”

______________

 

I find him in our bedroom. Well, technically I suppose it is still _my_ bedroom but - as cheesy as this sounds - this whole place is only ever a house until he is here. Only then does it feel like a home.

Even when the kids are here, there is always some toy they have forgotten to pack, some tantrum-throwing change to a schedule, a poor-man’s replica of a newly coveted item that only exists back in my old place, that reminds me that this isn’t where they want to be and as much as I feel that they belong with _me_ , they don’t belong _here._

It isn’t like that with Tim. He breezes in without so much as a change of underwear, my clothes becoming his clothes, hiding pistachio shells _everywhere_ now for fun, filling the space with his laughter and falling asleep on pretty much every surface. He inhabits this place in a way I can’t even explain. I just know that I never, ever, want him to leave.

It doesn’t hurt, either, that he is lying there naked from the waist down, a vision of bare skin and ribbon.

“The wicked witch, huh?”

He turns over on the bed, his phone discarded on the pillow, his top glittering in the low light of the lamp by the bedside. He props himself up on his elbows, trailing a pale hand across the embroidery, his lips splitting into a wide grin.

His laugh is breathy, melodic. “I know. Subtle, wasn’t it?”

I am over to the bed and straddling him before he can even look back up. I tilt his head back and lick my way softly into his mouth, the warmth of his giggle spurring me on.

Given that the public at large are yet to discover my ‘single’ status I am confident his sly joke will not have resonated with anyone bar me. Still, it is a bold move.

“You’re lucky that no-one would suspect such shade from you, Timothee. However I know better and your overt insolence should be punished, young man.”

I pull back a little to meet his gaze, his lashes fluttering as he jerks his chin definitely, cupping my cock in his palm.

“Promises, promises… ” _Why, my little party is just beginning_ ””.

He continues to massage me through my ever tightening trousers as we resume our kissing and I shift back off his hips to give him some room. All thoughts of me taking any kind of control here are dashed and he wastes no time in undoing my fly. Our moans meet on an exhale as he slips his cool fingertips between the folds of fabric, encircling my cock.

His lips break away from mine as he moves to push my trousers down. They trail down my chin, along my jaw before licking softly at the edge of my top. He takes the rollneck between his teeth and pulls gently as his hands, finished their task with my trousers, begin to push the fabric up from my waist.

“Off.” he commands, gently. I do as I am told and he gazes lovingly at my neck as I return to position, my skin on fire at the fabric free contact. His fingers reach out and caress the spot at the juncture of my shoulder where I know he left a bruise not long after he got here yesterday. His digits dance carefully, almost childlike in wonder.

“What?” i ask, my eyes on his mouth, unable to resist capturing another kiss before he has chance to answer.

“Nothing, baby. Nothing. Just explains a lot, is all.”

“What, about how your parent’s obviously never taught you not to play with your food?”

“Ha. No.” He stops stroking my neck and pulls my discarded top over his chest, fidgeting until he could trace his fingers across the embroidered logo on the collar . “About why you turned up tonight looking like someone’s yacht daddy.”

“I-, Someones _what?_ ”

He giggles, stuffing the fabric between his teeth to muffle the sound. His eyes sparkle as he tries to gauge whether I am really offended or not - a game he likes to play despite knowing there is little, if anything, he can say to truly offend me. Why waste our time together being mad when we could use that time to fuck?

Pulling the self-imposed gag out of his mouth, I lower myself to allow my tongue to occupy the space instead, drawing it against his teeth, lightly skirting the sensitive inside of his lip. I mumble softly into the fraction of space I allow between us.

“Yacht daddy huh? I’d make some reference here to boat sizes and what really matters but”, I rub against him and swallow his groaned response. “Hard to worry about _that_ when you’re captaining a cruise liner.”

His fingers wrap around us both, stroking swiftly as he undulates in tandem beneath me. My head drops as I emit what can only be described as an animalistic grunt, watching as we fuck into the velvet softness of his fist.

This angle is beautiful, for the record. The bright orange flash of his top is offset stunningly against the milky perfection of his concave stomach, the shadows of his hipbones dancing in the dip of his pelvis. The underside of his thumb drags endlessly though the short ‘treasure trail’ leading to his cock. He waxes everything else, his skin smooth and ready to be kissed. What began as an illusionary tactic - “ _Your size is intimidating. What's good, YouTube? Two vids later, here we are_ ” - became a regular occurrence once he realised the instantaneous effect it had on me. Still has.

I’m transfixed, the gutteral sounds we are making filling the room as we leak into his palm. He collects every couple of strokes, coating us as we slick against each other, warm and wet. Much longer and its going to be game over before we have even begun so I still his hand with my own. Able to read without words, he turns beneath me, making no moves to remove his top. Good. His hips are already canted, pushing his ass into my groin.

As I lean over him to get the lube from the drawer by the side of the bed, I hear him muffle something into the pillow. I ask him to repeat himself.

“I said, I am ready for the sequel.”

I position myself back over him, lube slicking up my fingers. “What are you on about? What sequel?”

He grins at me, shaking his ass for emphasis as I slowly circle his tight hole. “Speed 2.”

I bite my lip and respond by pushing into him with more force and less preparation than I usually would. He cries out, a sharp call of pain that dissolves into a giggle.

“Okay okay!” he reaches behind and grabs at my wrist, twisting his body to look at me. “I promise, enough of the boat jokes. Just fuck me already.”. He blows me a kiss before moving onto all fours, presenting himself open and wanting.

I am not quite ready yet, knowing that as soon as I enter him i am fast on the countdown to this being over. I shift him to the edge of the bed and drop to my knees instead, perfectly positioned to eat him out first. That should buy me some time and stop me coming all over him like a teenager getting his first handjob.

I don’t bother to tease him, I want him as close to the edge as quickly as possible. I can tell from the pitch of his moans as my tongue works its way down his crack, across his taint, around his balls before eventually lapping at his hole that he isn’t far from that teenage embarrassment himself. His hands fist in the bedcovers as my own trace the delicious curve of his spine, dipping beneath the edges of his top, feeling the sweat pooling beneath the fabric in the hollow of his spine.

Almost like gauging the nearness of a storm by judging the time between lightning and thunder, I calculate how close he is to coming by how quick he repeats my name. Speared on my tongue, the vowels are beginning to melt into each other and I know I don’t have long left before the crest of the wave is over him.

I kiss my way up his body as I stand, making quick work of lubing myself up. I wipe my hand on the duvet to dry it as best I can before I gather up the fabric of his _bib_ and lift him off the bed, suspended in my hold as I guide him onto my cock.

His body is limp, trusting both myself and the hours of handiwork that went into this beaded whateverthefuck, to hold his weight. Both of his hands come behind him, binding my wrist in their slick hold. I know it is to avoid the temptation to touch himself and I stroke his hip in appreciation.

Gripping said hip for some stability, I fuck him slowly, pulling him higher to alter the angle and settling only when I can be sure I am dragging blissfully against his prostate, allowing his breathless “Oh holy fuck” to assure me I’m hitting the mark.

There is something to be said about a passive Timothee. Anyone who has ever spent any time in his company could tell you that he has an energy around him that is more than invigorating. You feel alive in his presence as if your blood, only moments ago thick as molasses, is suddenly water, racing around your body, every nerve ending alive and drawn to him. Only a select few get to see _this_ version of him. The energy he radiates is contained, deep within himself, his vibration now a low hum that tingles across your skin, makes you want to locate the source of it like an itch you can’t quite find to scratch. I can imagine it could drive a man crazy if he wasn’t lucky enough to be in a position to seek it out with the end of his cock, to drive into him and bring that energy back to the surface. It is a game Timothee doesn’t even know he is playing, hosting, but it's addictive. That eternal search for just the right caress that will bring him out of himself again and send that bright light spilling over us both.

 **“** Are you close, baby?”

I ask for decoration only since I can feel him tightening around me, pulsing, drawing my own orgasm from me in increments. It’s funny; penetrative sex is still something relatively new for us and yet every time is like both the first and the nth. We’ve been doing this for weeks, for minutes, for days, for centuries. The first time we fucked we hid our tears from each other, both feeling like it would be crazy to say it had felt like coming home.

Afterwards, we told each other anyway.

His light is slowly beginning its outward ebb, his limbs becoming mobile, hands releasing my wrists to prop himself on the bed as he starts to fight the loss of control he knows is coming. We laughed once about how he has sex backwards, giving himself up first before taking control at the last second. He kissed me on the nose and reminded me how well it worked against my dominant-heavy favour. He isn't wrong.

In an instant he is up on his knees, his shoulders against my chest, spine indecently curved. I can feel his hot breath against my jaw as he bites at the tender skin of my neck and I let go of the hold I had on his top in favour of collaring his throat, holding him tight against me.

I seek entry into his mouth, my tongue heavy with want. As we break the kiss, his eyes flutter open and he murmurs gently between my lips.

“Let _me_ finish, okay?“

Sealing acceptance with a kiss, I slow down my thrusts into his pliant body. He thanks me, falling back on all fours and allows me a second to spread my palms across his hips, opening him up to watch myself slide to the hilt inside of him, his body a custom fit.

Satisfied, I let my hands rest against the front of his thighs and stay as still as I can as he slowly begins to twist his hips, alternating with a subtle back and forth rock, hunting down his best angle.

I focus on singular droplets of sweat as they bead on his skin, mesmerised by the sparkle. Anything to distract from how well he moves, electric heat enveloping me time and time again, the wet slick of his ministrations drowned out only by the expletive heavy moans I feel vibrate in the air around me. It is of no use and just as i begin to feel the tell tale tremor of his thighs under my fingertips, I am cresting on a cry of his name.

As he wrenches my orgasm from me, my body crumbles into him and I brace my hands either side of his waist. I sense, more than feel, his own release and for a split second I wonder just how loud we are being and whether we may have just caused ourselves thousands of dollars in future therapy bills for my children.

The moment swiftly passes as he collapses into the mattress, pulling me with him. I try not to crush him into the mess of his own come as I kiss and suck at his shoulder, the fabric of his top - oh fuck, maybe _that’s_  ruined - chafing pleasurably against my over-sensitive nipples.

His head is turned to the side, damp, wet curls plastered to his forehead, panting, mouth open giving a teasing glimpse of his pink little tongue.

He looks like a fucking angel. I wish I understood just what it was about this kid that made my body hard but my emotions soft as all hell. It must be his asshole.

Landing a wet kiss to his cheek I slowly pull out of him, watching his face contort into a grimace, enjoying the hiss emanating through gritted teeth before his entire demeanour relaxes into a boneless heap.

I lay next to him and try to even out my own breathing.

“Urgh, shit.”

I turn to face him, his eyes are closed but his brows are knotted together.

“What?”

“Urgh. fuck.” he mumbling now, face half buried in the duvet.

“What?!”

“Urghhhh”, his moan is long and drawn out and I can’t tell if he is in pain or what but if he doesn't tell me in a second he soon will be.

“What. Is. Wrong?”

He groans again, fisting his hands underneath him and pushing himself up into a faux cobra pose. He twists his face in disgust as the sheets stick to him, coated in his release. He looks down at me, his expression resigned. I raise my eyebrows in silent question.

He gets up and off the bed, one hand trailing lightly over my cock. He daintily pulls off his top, careful not to touch the mess he’s made before throwing it to one side and kissing his way from my groin to my neck. He licks gently at my lips, requesting access and delicately grinds against me even though we are both spent. I acquiesce and his tongue fills my mouth for a second before his words do.

“Urgh, now I _really_ want fried chicken.”

______________

**6th November 2018 - 10.26am**

“Who was that?”

I hum appreciatively as Timothee, a morning vision of long limbs and messy curls, pads across the carpet before crawling on the bed, stalking his way up in between my thighs. He eyed my lips and jutted his chin - Timothee speak for “give me a kiss”. I oblige.

My cock stirs as if on a promise as Tim's mouth works it's wonders, almost as though we _hadn't_ called Nick back yesterday to take the kids out and give us a full day of lazy, hungover fucking. I'm clearly insatiable.

“Evelyn. She’s going mad about Twitter, again. Nothing new. She can die mad on it - how was he?”

For his sins, he had been up most of the night with my son who, despite being in high fever, was well enough to inform me that my parental skills were less than adequate for his needs and only Mr Magic Hands over here could actually do anything to help.  

I’d be mad about it but can’t argue flawless logic.

“He’s sleeping again. I gave him some vicodin in a dash of whiskey - that’s what you said, right?”

“Two fingers, yeah.”

“Cool. So,” he settles by my side, one leg caging me in place. I rest my hand on his knee, tracing the bone beneath my fingertips. “She’s pissed huh? Do I even want to look at my phone?”

I stroke down his thigh, twisting my hand to look at my watch.

“Well, you’ve a couple of hours before you have to leave. You can spend them talking to Brian about some non-existent drama or you could spend them ruining me for any other man, it is up to you?”

He rests his head against the headboard, his mouth twisted in thought. “Hmm, tough call”. Smiling devilishly, he shifts quickly into my lap, his hands pulling the covers away from my waist. “Then again, Evelyn _did_ just tear you a new one.” He kisses me gently. “I’ve some exploring to do”.

______________

**6th November 2018 - 20.24**

__

______________

**7th November 2018 - 02.58**

 

______________

**7th November 2018 - 03.38**

__

**Author's Note:**

> Do yourself a favour and go and watch Stay - I had to use this song when I saw the witch on the bib and had instant recall of this video. From the 1.57 mark if you're interested.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCYaALgW80c


End file.
